The USAF's U-2 aircraft, a product of Lockheed's

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About the Author ...

Paul Memrick is a
captain for a major airline, and lives in Austin, Texas. When he's not
crisscrossing the country at all hours of the day and night, he can be found
at home, performing more mundane but similarly heroic tasks like protecting
his family from the threat of fire ants, paying the bills, and occasionally,
when he's been really good, flying the family Cessna hangared at Lockhart
Municipal Field (50R).

Pretty neat image, huh? I actually got to
fly missions in that thing. Yes, it's a U-2 spyplane; we referred to it as the
"Dragonlady." The saying went, you had to learn to fight with the dragon
before you could dance with the lady. It was a joy to fly, but more so than
any other airplane, it always demanded attention, especially in the landing
phase. Speed control was paramount, and yes, it was a taildragger. A
40,000-pound taildragger with bicycle landing gear.

It was a unique arrangement, that demanded you fly the thing to a stop, and
even after stopping, you could still fly the wings with 10 knots of wind. And
taxiing, well, that's another story! A 200-foot turn radius with a tailwheel
that only steers six degrees requires a lot of room ... and some unique
methods of weight distribution to ensure wingtip clearance. At one of our
locations with very little taxiway clearance, we had to remove the pogo (an
additional wheel midway under the wing used only for taxiing) from one side
and put the wing completely over the grass. This required special
counterbalancing weights to keep the other wing down, and the weights we used
were human! It was always a special occasion, and we even handed out
certificates to the lucky individuals, most often British nurses at one of our
classified locations that happened to have a large military hospital. Possibly
our most popular TDY location of all!

Still Doing the Job

I flew the U-2 from 1987 to 1991. It is still being flown on a daily basis,
flying missions around the world. When I reflect on the planning I used to
participate in for "the big one" and the routes we would fly after the nukes
had dropped, and then think about how I ended up flying 727s into Moscow just
a few years later, I am astounded. I recall my first time actually flying a
727 into Russia, and feeling very vulnerable without a RAW (Radar Attack
Warning) scope or ECM (Electronic Counter Measure) gear! What an amazing era
we've (luckily) lived through.

A quick history of the U-2: It was developed in the early '50s in
Lockheed's Burbank, Calif., "Skunk Works" under the supervision of Clarence
"Kelly" Johnson, an aeronautical designer genius. At that time, nothing could
touch it, until, as you may recall, on May 1, 1960, one was shot down over
Russia, and the pilot, Francis Gary Powers, was taken prisoner. That event is
still shrouded in mystery.

A lot of our policies changed after that, and improvements were made. We
did learn, however, that in certain situations we were vulnerable, and we
learned how to improve our chances of survival. The U-2s that are flying today
are much improved over the first versions, and are actually 67 percent larger.
The line started with "A" models; they're up to "S" models now. The latest
ones came off the assembly line in 1989 and were recently re-engined with the
B-2 turbofan engine. There's even talk of reopening the production line.
Unmanned reconnaissance and satellites are effective for what they do, but
there will always be a need for a manned reconnaissance airplane. It's hard to
find an argument against a successful platform like the U-2.

Training

The training program starts with the selection
process. Less than a third of all applicants ever get selected to fly it, and
even then you are still susceptible to washing out of the program. It was
unusual in the Air Force in that it wasn't a black mark on your record if you
washed out; not everyone was cut out to fly the thing. I mean, who would want
to spend ten hours or more sealed up in a spacesuit, flying in a cramped
cockpit, at over 70,000 feet, with the threat of enemy missiles locking on to
you. Not to mention the ever-present threat of a flameout of the lone engine
and the resultant diversion to another base. A lot of good pilots weren't
selected, and they returned to their units and simply got another
assignment.

But, once you were selected for an interview, you got to go to Beale AFB
for a two-week tryout. The first week was all interviews with the commanders
and other pilots. The second week consisted of actually flying the two-seat
model to see if you could land it.

Yes, it did fly like a glider, but remember, it's a taildragger, and she
needed to remind you of that continually! When I interviewed I was a T-37
instructor pilot with about 2,000 hours experience. But what really helped me
out was that I had recently checked out in a Great Lakes biplane. That was the
best preparation for the interview I could ever recommend. Maybe a Pitts would
have been better, but one wasn't available.

At altitude, the plane flew like a dream. Granted, you still had to watch
your airspeed. With only a few knots between a stall and Mach buffet you could
find yourself between a rock and a hard place really fast. (Yes, we did have
an autopilot, but you still needed to watch it closely. Imagine trying to fly
an ILS for nine hours...) As I mentioned, it flew very well, and was very
maneuverable in the thin air. Our altitude and maneuverability (combined with
some powerful ECM jammers) gave us an edge against our foes, both airborne and
ground-based. We routinely flew in dangerous parts of the world, but for the
most part we had a lot of support. Sometimes, though, we were entirely on our
own, just an airplane with a camera. And the best part was we didn't have to
talk to anybody. Boy do I miss that! As a pilot for a major airline, I have to
talk to everybody now, except when I'm piloting my Cessna VFR.

My Favorite Story About Not Talking to ATC (Do NOT Try
This at Home!)

Shortly after Saddam went on his little adventure, we were tasked to fly
some of our aircraft to Saudi Arabia. I had the opportunity to take one of our
prototype birds (worth a cool $250 million in 1990 dollars) across the pond
and then on to Saudi. It was my first time flying across the Atlantic, not to
mention my first time solo over there. (Don't know if my commanders knew that;
I didn't volunteer that information at the time.) Anyway, that trip across the
Atlantic was fun, and the next leg from England to Saudi Arabia was even more
challenging.

It started with an INS (Inertial Navigation
System) glitch that I finally figured out somewhere over the English channel.
Probably should have aborted for it, but I was in the go-mode. Once I got that
straightened out, I figured I could make it all the way. But it sure was
distracting. As I approached the coast of France, I couldn't raise ATC on UHF
or VHF. I was given a special code word to transmit if I had any difficulty
with them, and I would have used it if they had only answered me. But they
didn't want to talk to me so I motored on. In the bargain, though, I got a
great view of Paris from 70,000 feet.

The problems started after I coasted out of France over the Mediterranean.
I turned my transponder off when I passed by Libya and got a nasty call from
Malta when I was right overhead. After I responded, the controller seemed very
pleased to hold a conversation with me on guard frequency, and announce to the
world what he showed for my altitude on his height-finding radar. Oh well, so
much for classified altitude!

By the time I got to Egypt, I guess I had upset the French so much they
pulled my flight plan (this was a legitimate ferry flight, so we played by the
ATC rules) and Cairo center wouldn't let me pass until I told them who I was,
where I was going, and where I was from. My answers were, "Classified.
Classified. Classified." They were not amused...

After being airborne for about eight hours, I wasn't in the best mood to
argue, but I discussed my predicament with the controller for about 10 minutes
and refused to give away information he didn't need to know. I think I just
wore him down. He finally gave me one more chance to come clean. I told him my
destination was still classified and he didn't understand. In a flash of
inspiration/frustration, I just started spelling out "classified" phonetically
and he let me pass. He's probably still trying to figure it out. I really
don't know what I would have done if he'd pressed the issue. If I diverted to
Cairo, I'd probably still be there, trying to explain!

Miller Time!

As you may know from experience or hearsay, the
military is bound by tradition, and the U-2 community is no exception. Even
though all U-2 students were aircraft commanders in their previous assignments
(only experienced pilots could apply), soloing the aircraft was, and still is,
a big occasion. After about six rides in the two-seat version, they set you
loose to take one around the pattern for a few bounce and goes. If you come
through without groundlooping, you're brought back to the squadron Heritage
Room (formerly known as "Bar") and invited to imbibe a yard of your favorite
beverage.

Of course we didn't condone alcohol use, but we did keep records of how
quickly and efficiently a yard of ale could be finished, and those records
were routinely broken. In the bottom of the yard of ale was placed the coveted
solo pin. The trick of course, was to finish off the ale, without swallowing
the pin. It was the last trial to be won before you could call yourself a U-2
driver.

After a few more solo flights, most of them high-altitude, you were sent on
your first TDY, or Temporary Duty, to go keep tabs on the bad guys. Before I
suited up for my first mission, my PSD (Physiological Support Division) team
asked me what kind of beer I drank. I thought it was a joke, and they were
going to label one of my Gatorade bottles with a Carlsberg label. The PSD
technicians were the last people we saw before we suited up for a mission.
They were the critical link to life support, as they took care of our suits,
taught us how to use them, suited us up and kept us company for the required
one hour of pure oxygen pre-breathing needed to avoid decompression sickness
at altitude. And we liked to party with them. So we all got along very
well.

And much to my surprise, I was handed a frosty cold one as soon as they
opened the cockpit after my first mission. That made it very special, and I'll
never forget the extra attention everybody gave us on mission days. It took so
much effort by so many people just to launch a single U-2. Everyone took their
job very seriously and gave it their all. For that, I was very
grateful.

Always Good to Be Home

Once we completed our first tour of duty at a
TDY base, we were considered fully checked out and we could get any TDY
location that was available at the time. The usual schedule was two months
away, then two months home, which gave us just enough time to get reacquainted
with our families, put out the fires at home, and finish all of our currency
requirements. We were dual-qualified in the T-38 as well as the U-2, and we
had to get so many approaches, landings, and practice emergency procedures in
each aircraft each quarter, so we stayed pretty busy flying, not to mention
all the additional duties the Air Force loved to lavish on its people.

I think Northern California has some of the best flying in the world,
especially considering the range of flying we did. Whether it was a T-38
low-level over the Feather River Canyon, aerobatics in the MOAs or a
high-altitude sortie over the Pacific Northwest, the scenery was awesome. And
of course, we also flew a T-38 route (Oceanview) that took us over the coast,
down south towards San Francisco, and if we asked really nice and the
controllers weren't too busy, we could drop down and get the Bay Tour.

It was always a special treat to fly at home. But, it seems
that, just as you finished your requirements, along came orders for your next
TDY. Off again to some exotic locale. Where to this time? Back to Korea or a
classified Mediterranean Island? Wherever the assignment, we were sure to get
a little more responsibility, such as the "camera-only" missions where the
only onboard equipment was the camera, and we'd just go take pictures and not
have to talk to anyone. I got to see some parts of the world I'd never seen
before, but judging by the activity on the RAW scope, I didn't really surprise
anybody.

Back to Work

Seeing your RAW scope activate the first time can be a little unnerving,
unless you view it as a game. Reconnaissance is not the same as "spying" and
is a necessary part of keeping the peace. But most governments would beg to
differ and used us as a target to test their capabilities. Prior to each
mission we were given an intel briefing on what to expect and the extent of
the threat, and most of the time it was very benign. So you know when you got
"lit up" that you probably weren't going to be face to face with a SAM that
day.

By the time I was deployed to Saudi Arabia for Desert Shield, I was
probably lulled into a false sense of security. That's when I received an
attack warning from the other side of the border. I just thought it was an
Iraqi SAM site testing its radar, but as it turned out it was a new site that
had been previously unaccounted for, so it made a lot of people upset when I
returned and told them about it. I was upset, too!

Fortunately, I got to go home before the war
started, and somehow managed to get the choice Mediterranean TDY for the
duration of the Gulf War. I still flew missions in support of Desert Storm,
but didn't have to survive the Spartan conditions my brothers in the desert
tolerated. And, I got my favorite Carlsberg beverage at the end of every
mission ... something that was definitely lacking in the desert! Of course,
they got the combat sorties and all the medals, but since I was separating
from the service anyway, I didn't need that to advance my career.

And I had a run of extremely good luck; I figured it was time to quit while
I was ahead. We were all very lucky during the years I flew the airplane: No
one crashed or was shot down, and the only incidents were minor, such as the
occasional groundloop or hard landing (none of them mine, thankfully). And,
thankfully, no U-2 was shot down during the Gulf War.

But the Dragonlady, temperamental beast that she is, has claimed a few of
her pilots in the years since, and on a recent visit back to Beale AFB, it was
sobering to see portraits of two of my friends and former U-2 brothers, along
with two others who had joined the program after I left, adorning the wall of
the Heritage Room. They will all be missed. The nature of our flying and
deployments makes us a very tight-knit group, and our bonds tended to be a lot
stronger than in follow-on assignments. Even our spouses have stayed in touch
with each other.

I recently returned to celebrate a friend's retirement, and was able to
show my daughter my name and date of solo, along with the other 600 or so
pilots who have accomplished that feat. There sure were a lot of names added
after mine.

Nowadays I'm content to drive a 727 around the skies,
cruising at half the altitude I used to fly. Things look a lot bigger down
here, and we have to go around thunderstorms instead of climbing over them.
But it's still fun for me; I guess that's why I started flying in the first
place. And I seem to get the most fun out of flying my family around in my
Cessna, and I look forward to doing that for a long time. But I've found that
I can (almost) always pique another pilot's interest when I tell them what I
flew in the Air Force. Everyone wants to know what it was like flying higher
than almost any other airplane in the world. There were a few who managed to
fly higher than us, such as the SR-71, but still only a handful of pilots ever
get much above FL390, much less FL700.

It's a unique fraternity, but by all means not exclusive. Hey, they let me
fly it!

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